


to let myself go

by sollys



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6718477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sollys/pseuds/sollys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You'll be a great queen one day, Sam.” Root whispers, slightly in awe and like she's in on something Shaw isn't privy to. Her hand skims upwards lightly and it was hard, the first few years to get used to it, the touches and the pointless plots Root had planned for her only to satisfy her own greedy needs. But it changed, like a fire slowly fizzling out and instead of the uninhibited anger that would flow inside her veins, now Sameen is left with flaring curiosity and even more of flaring dread.</p><p>Because the greatest aren't always the good ones are they?</p><p>Medieval Times AU / Left Hand Of God AU/ Assassin's Creed AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	to let myself go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [donteatmyfingerprints](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donteatmyfingerprints/gifts).



> Sort of gift to nerdgirlwalking, for all the inspiration, and encouraging.
> 
> And dedicated to ieatmyfigerprints because her AU fanfics are beyond compare.

“ _Recrudescence._ To look her in the eye and not be afraid of the sparkle swirling in her orbs. To trace the ridges in the walls and not be scared of the outbreak, the _feeling._ Stare indefinitely into the void and stay calm, _still_ even. Don't run away from the darkness. You're not an angel just yet.”

 

Surely, the girl cannot expect her to believe in such nonsense. Would it be irrational to reach out and tip that book over the window ledge? The girl's hair flow alongside the wind like feathers, softly falling and just when you'd think they're about to land, they do a small, funny twist and go up again at a different direction.

 

“What do you think?” The girl asks, disrupting her thoughts and some sort of grand discovery concerning the air.

 

“I think that's a whole load of -”

 

Before she has the chance to finish that _particularly_ colorful sentence, the large, leather – binded book lands on her head, ungracefully, with all the mighty force someone could expect from a 14 – year – old. She bursts out laughing, even though there's a lump forming on her head and the hazel – eyed girl from the other side of the room glares.

 

It's not often that they get to indulge themselves in such quiet, uneventful evenings ;

 

The sky is grey and there's a storm brewing in the horizon, and she knows this part of the story all too well. Problems abate only to resurface in the ugliest ways. She abhors the constant, manic energy that is required of them to keep living, _surviving._ She's only 12 years old but as her father used to say, _knowledge isn't all about age but character._

 

As the girl pads across the carpet softly, wind howls outside the window, and far, far away, a door slams shut.

 

“Let me see that,” the girl murmurs, calm like a breeze. “You know this is important. Why do you always have to challenge me?”

 

“You always tease me.”

 

“I'm older.” The girl cocks an eyebrow.

 

“Well I'm a king.”

 

The girl grins, slowly, from one ear to another and she knows that cunning, up – to – no good smile all too well.

 

“You're a female.”

 

“Fine,” she relents. “Queen then.”

 

The girls laughs then, her white teeth catching fleetingly a stripe of light and gleaming obscenely against the rest of the chambers.

 

“ _Princess_ , Sameen.” She states as a matter of fact, and it's Sam's turn to narrow her eyes dangerously.

 

“And what would you know about that?” She asks, plaintive tone in the low timbres of her young voice. “You don't even _have_ a family.”

 

Root's eyes gloss a bit, her mouth ticking downwards at the corners, and those are the moments in which she knows she's spoken unwise words. Never have been good at them, anyway, and sometimes she wonders how the castle puts up with that. Besides the cook, nobody else has so much as uttered a word about her attitude or seemingly, _strange_ point of views.

 

None, that is.

 

Instead of asking for dresses and the finest tailors in Midlands, Sameen asked for a wooden sword, and a horse. She got neither.

 

Now she has both.

 

It would have to do with her father's death, of course. There's still a lingering ache in her chest, like someone came in at night and removed a part of her, replaced it with something else so that it wouldn't hurt but the size wasn't quite right, the puzzle piece not quite fitting. She'd asked her mother once if they could ask the healer to check.

 

_Her mother had cried._

 

She shoudn't have said that to Root. Shaw can't possibly imagine how it must feel to have two of these uncomfortable enitities in her chest. One for a mother and another for a father.

 

“No, I don't,” Root says, with no particular conviction in her voice. She doesn't sound angry either, just... _empty_? Shaw isn't good at reading people, and there's something to be said about her emotional capacity, according to the Wise, but apparently most of the times just apologizing is enough.

 

Root is different as well though, is she not? Sameen wonders if that is why they're here together. Root has long, slender fingers, and painted nails instead of rough, tiny callouses. She has a differently designed and colored gown for every black undergarment Sameen sports.

 

She has light brown tresses that curl _just_ underneath her shoulders when Sameen's hair are tousled and dull at the end of _every_ day. And her voice is dulcet, placid, overwhelming her own harsh and unsteady low tones.

 

 

Shaw sighs despite the shivers raising along her arms from the sudden cold, and doesn't contemplate long and hard before she places a palm on Root's elbow and hooks a leg behind her left knee.

 

The darkness in the room seeps and expands, the cashmere curtains dancing wildly with the wind and Sameen's mahogany nighstand trembles against the wall next to them. Her mirror stands, tall abreast the assault and from the corner of her eyes she can see herself, stretched above Root with her arms flexed on top of the expensive wool blanket her mother bought for her birthday. The material crumples, shifts against her tightened fists and Sameen breathes, lets the ever present strand of hair escape her ponytail and tingle Root's cheek because she somehow knows Root doesn't mind.

 

Root smiles, easily, and so, _so_ wrong.

 

_What is this feeling that burns like a candle?_

 

There has been no teacher until now to have told her anything of such accord, no lesson on how to defend herself against pretty girls and pretty mouths and pretty eyes. She thinks of Root and a shield comes to mind, not her old, childish wooden one but the iron her father used to carry, as if that could ever be enough to stop the uknown force that _is_ Root.

 

She does not desire this hopelessness. She does not seek for Root's warm glance.

 

But most importantly, she does not _understand_ it.

 

“You'll be a great queen one day, Sam.” Root whispers, slightly in awe and like she's in on something Shaw isn't privy to. Her hand skims upwards lightly and it was hard, the first few years to get used to it, the touches and the pointless plots Root had planned for her only to satisfy her own greedy needs. But it changed, like a fire slowly fizzling out and instead of the uninhibited anger that would flow inside her veins, now Sameen is left with flaring curiosity and even more of flaring dread.

 

“I already know that,” she says instead, trying not to succumb to the silly games Root has forever been dragging her into, ever since Sameen can remember. She's only 12. She does not know what the appropriate response to such suggestions is. “I'm gonna be the greatest.”

 

Root chuckles, melodically and Shaw watches her nose scrunch up in that strangely fond way of hers, ignoring the burn in her muscles as she continues holding herself up.

 

“Overconfidence, Sameen,” Root raises a brow, her fingers taking a detour and Shaw recognizes this gleam in her eyes, too. “Bordering on _hubristic_ pride.”

 

“Don't.” Shaw bites out, grabbing her wrist and pinning it down on the soft mattress with only minimum effort. Root's allowing her to take control and Shaw frowns, staring down at those bottomless eyes and wondering when she became so compliant towards Root's will.

 

Root stares back and this is not the first time the world freezes only for Shaw's chest to touch Root's as they breathe in and out so close to each other. The sounds of branches meeting stone outside match the rhythm of her heart and it's always special, _unlike_ the previous time. She's so young and yet all of these unfamiliar emotions feel too big to accommodate inside. It's like she's swimming in calm waters constantly until Root appears within touching distance and then she's drowning, from something much stronger and powerful than she ever could be.

 

It annoys her to no end.

 

Root wraps her palm around Shaw's wrist. “Recrudescence. Tell me.”

 

Shaw blinks, once, twice, and then slowly, like a horse taking its time with galloping she moves her head, shakes it, steadily, and gets up. She points her fingers to ease the ache from her muscles and then proceeds to clench her fists.

 

“I don't want to.”

 

She listens to the running water from the lake close to her room, a bit further away from the castle, and if she focuses she can just about distinguish Michello's voice from further down the halls, ordering the servants around on how to properly set the table for tomorrow morning. Instead she stares at Root, and waits.

 

Eventually, Root sighs.

 

“You're going to be the greatest.”

 

_She sounds like she's carrying the weight of the world._

 

 

 

 

 

From her bed, at night, it's not hard to hear the morrow rising, the birds chirping and the maidens rushing around the castle. It is not hard to tell apart the voices from the knights, the guards, the soldiers from those of the plain peasants.

 

But it is no morrow, and this time there are way too many voices echoing around for her to play the game, as she wakes up suddenly from a distant crash. She can't quite make out what all the fuss is about but sleepiness is blurring the edges of her vision and it's cold when the blanket falls off her shoulders as she sits up.

 

She walks to the window quickly and leans over.

 

But for the mighty love of the Lord, she hopes she's dreaming, because what meets her eyes is not her future castle, but the raging fight of two armies that slash at each other with fervor. Her eyes open wide when she pinches herelf and yet the image remains the same.

 

_Don't panic._

 

She spares a glance towards the gates and catches a glimpse of a dead guard's body, which would mean the other one is also gone. The distinct sound of swords clanging is evident in the air, and Shaw wastes no more time trying to analyze the situation. This is not a practice with her mentor.

 

Fast as lightning she starts packing her hand – sawn backpack, seathing a tiny sword by her boot and holding the bigger one tight underneath her fingers. Outside, shouts are heard from various places and when she opens the door she's not surprised to witness the definition of chaos.

 

She takes a step forward and –

 

“Princess!” Sameen looks to her left and releases a breath when she sees it's the old cell warden. “Follow me, come along, don't stall!”

 

His words are messy and jumbled but he grabs her hand and drags her across the hall, half jogging, half running, passing by the kitchen and heading for the wide, open staircase. Where the enormous, magnificent flag with her father's trademark crossed dragon used to be hanging from the ceiling, now is a big black hole, outlined with fire.

 

“They got inside?!” A man she recognizes as the head of her mother's personal guards screams.

 

“Go! Keep them occupied. I shall lead the heir to safety!”

 

“You cannot be serious!” The younger man steps forward, his cheek twitching from fear and uncertainty. “We will all die out there!”

 

“You're already dead! Don't be a foolish coward Peter.” The warden remarks hurriedly as he had already grabbed Sameen by the hand and started on his way once again.

 

But the younger man does not condone. Despite the screams emenating from so close, Sameen raises her sword and poins it to the man's chin before he can attack the warden as he originally planned. “Where is my mother?” She says threateningly, daring him to deny her skill.

 

“Your – your mother is safe, princess.”

 

“Then do your damn job and keep her safe, otherwise you're no worthy of your title.”

 

With that Sameen, turns to the warden and they take off, running.

 

“What is happening?”

 

The warden shakes his head as they pass by a man holding his head in his hands. “There is no time to explain princess.”

 

“ _Find_ time!” She shouts as they go down another staircase that leads further in, instead of out. “Why are we under attack?”

 

“Princess I -”

 

“ _Sameen,_ watch out!”

 

There's only a second to react when even ten wouldn't have been enough. Before Shaw can do anything, a man in a purple cloak swings his sword out of nowhere and the warden's head flies away like nothing, his lifeless body tumbling in on itself. There's blood everywhere and Sameen stands stock still, although she can vaguely hear screams and fire behind her, wood cracking and leaving her deaf as the main entry to the Great Hall is broken into and the last remnants of her father's great army fall short against the invaders.

 

“Sameen!” She hears, again and again. “SHAW _RUN!”_

 

And only then does she realize, that the man in purple is looking at her, his face covered but a wicked smile standing out amidst the gore. She feels fear, for the first time in her life and anger, and then out of their own volition her feet kickstart, thumping against the floor and not halting even when her sword has fallen and the backpack has dropped. She runs, faster than she ever has, and _there,_ the source of the voice is Root, another level down, near the dungeons. She sprints to her and Root wastes no more time standing ;

 

She starts running, gaining momentum just as Shaw reaches her peak and they go together, not knowing where and how but comprehending they _have_ to.

 

It's strange really, how luck loves to play games though isn't it?

 

A scream, louder than all pierces through the air, and even as Root flinches and loses her footing she doesn't stop, not like _Shaw._

 

She's right in front of the exit, now. Root has reached the coast of forests and Shaw can feel her agony, her concern when she probably turns to check on Shaw and sees she isn't there.

 

How could she be?

 

Shaw clenches her jaw, tightens her fists and looks up. There are two walls on each side of the staircase she just fought to go through, and they feel suffocating, closing down on her as she closes her eyes and inhales.

 

_She knows that voice. She knows that scream._

 

She opens them.

 

And not even the endless darkness could hide the horror waiting for her at the top.

 

Her mother's head, her face, pale and shattered, expression breathtaking and haunting, sits in the middle of the top step, horrific and not in contrast to the fire and the blood Shaw can see behind it.

 

She can hear Root scream, she can hear Root's feet when they pound against the ground as she runs the way back to get her, _get back, Sameen, please, SAMEEN!_

 

But there is nothing.

 

There is nothing but emptiness in front of her now. Nothing but stillness.

 

Shaw smiles.

 

 _Recrudescence,_ she thinks.

 

 _To look her in the eye and not be afraid of the sparkle swirling in her orbs. To trace the ridges in the walls and not be scared of the outbreak, the feeling._ _Stare indefinitely into the void and stay calm, still even._

 

She can feel him, his footsteps, his wicked eyes and his evil grin.

 

She shuts her eyes, because she doesn't want to see Root. She reaches up and drags the metal, spiky gate down and flinches as Root _screams_ because she knows, _she knows._ Shaw would have made a great queen one day.

 

_Don't run away from the darkness._

 

“ _NO! SAMEEN!”_

 

 _It's okay,_ she'd like to say.

 

_It's okay._

 

The sword's tip doesn't hurt half as bad as her raw, desperate voice from far away when it pierces through her skin.

 

_It's okay._

 

_You're not an angel just yet._

 

She would have been the greatest.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed!  
> I always love talking to you guys. ;)


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